


Born of Cinders

by SweetVenom



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Mentions of Slavery, Minor canon divergence, Morning Sickness, POV Multiple, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetVenom/pseuds/SweetVenom
Summary: In 9:37 Dragon, Marian Hawke fled Kirkwall with her apostate lover, Anders, who sparked the embers of mages' unrest into a flame of war. The two remained hidden, despite efforts from the  Templars, Chantry officials and Seekers of Truth to locate them. In 9:41 Dragon, at the behest of friend, Varric, Marian emerged out of hiding to aid the Inquisition in their fight against Corypheus; offering the intel and assistance of her unexpected contact, the renegade Warden Alistair.A lot happened in 4 years.





	1. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian has fled Kirkwall with Anders, but finds herself completely unprepared for an unexpected revelation.

_One day, someone like you will love someone like me, and there won't be any templars to tear them apart._

_***_

 

"Oh Sweetie… are you sure?"

Marian blinked away a few tears as she saw the pained look in Isabela's eyes. Her raven hair was slipping out from her headwrap in curled strands, and Marian wanted to tuck them away, or set them all free, or brush them aside. Anything to delay this conversation.

“Hawke, you don't have to do this”. Varric had a scowl and dashes of anger making his brows twitch. He was so good natured, but after everything had set in, after all the consequences had taken time to settle, Varric was angry in a way Marian had never seen him before. Not a shout, or a scold, but silence and sighs and words trapped behind his tongue.

“I'm doing what I want,” her attempt to reassure them was pitiful. She knew how it sounded. She knew what they all thought.

“He will kill you”. Fenris was kind enough to speak to her honestly, without softening his volume. She looked at him and bit back a sigh. He continued, speaking to Varric and Isabela. “If either of you cared about her, you would have thrown the abomination overboard the moment we were in open water”. His made no effort to lower his voice, though the _a_ _bomination_ in question was well within earshot. Thankfully, Anders said nothing, though he did turn and cast Marian a sad, almost pleading glance.

“Alright, Broody. No need to be so dramatic”. Varric shifted uncomfortably. He may have been angry with Anders and Marian, but he wasn't about to provoke a spirit of vengeance. He reached over his shoulder to touch Bianca, to prepare for a fight if necessary. Fenris and Anders did not have a history of amicability, and Varric wasn't one to be caught off guard in the crossfire.

“There is need. He will turn on you”. Fenris looked her in the eye, intense and angry. “Your trust is misplaced. If he thinks for a moment you are contrary to his cause, he will strike you down”.

She understood his anger. She could see where he was coming from. Marian always had struggled to understand Fenris's prejudice toward mages. Bethany was one of the people she loved most, deepest, in this world. When he first met her, Fenris's reaction to the realization that she was a mage had left Marian angry. It had soured her feelings for Fenris. But this, his fear of Anders, his fear for Marian's safety, it was justifiable.

Isabela rolled her eyes and held up a hand to silence the elf. “Alright, alright. We've talked ourselves in enough circles to make me dizzy. Mae, if you're doing this, please don't forget to keep in touch. Post on the Chanter's boards in any towns you pass, send ravens at any missive stations, we'll be on the lookout”. Isabela stepped toward Mariam and put her hands on her shoulders, running her thumbs over the armored pauldrons.

Varric nodded and interjected "My people in the merchants guild who can get us the messages real discreet-like. Just use the code we talked about, and no one in the Chantry will know it's you two if it's intercepted." He relaxed his stance, seeming to lose his fear of a confrontation. Anders seemed a world away from the rest of them, not a hint of his vengeful nature showing through.

Marian's tears flowed freely as she wrapped Isabela into an embrace. “I know, I know”. She pulled away and wiped the salty tears from her cheeks. “I'll be ok. You know me! But what about you? Varric, Fenris, will you stay with Isabela?”

Varric shook his head. “I can't speak for the elf, but Bianca and I are gonna be just fine. Rivaini'll drop me at the next port and I'll figure my shit out from there”.

“Hmf”. Fenris crossed his arms and averted his eyes. “I have no plan. But I will survive, as always”.

“Well,” Marian laughed softly. “I'm shit at goodbyes. So... Well. Don't get into anymore trouble without me?”

“Go on, Hawke. We'll see you again. You find us if…” Varric hesitated, a flash of anger again. Anger at Anders, and anger at Marian for stubbornly staying at his side, and anger at himself for being part of the whole damn thing. “Well. Just find us if you need us”.

She knew exactly what he wanted to say. _Find us if Blondie goes batshit and tries to kill you or worse. Find us if you get surrounded by templars and Blondie gets captured and you get away. Find us if you come to your senses and leave him for good._  The “find us” invitation was meant for her and her alone, and Marian suddenly got the sinking feeling that she'd never see Varric again, as long as Anders was by her side.

Marian nodded and turned around. Anders stood at the davit holding one of the rowboats attached to Isabella's ship. He was staring, distant, cold, and empty, at the far off shore. Isabela had brought them south of Wycome, stocked a boat with what supplies she could spare, but begged Marian to let Anders go alone. " _It was his choice, Sweetie,"_  she had said in private. " _Whatever you feel for him, it's not worth it. Let him go. I heard him begging you to stay with us. Please, Mae."_  Marian would hear none of it. She was a part of this, a part of him. She couldn't let him go. Not after everything they'd been through, after all she'd done for him, all he'd done for her.

The battle at the Gallows had weighed on him heavily. Meredith was dead, which was a blessing, to be sure. But Orsino's use of blood magic and subsequent possession had come as a shock to all of them. Once the demon had him, Marian saw a hopelessness in Anders' eyes as he had to turn his fire from the templars to the Enchanter. The handful of mages who had survived were horrified, and fighting against the one person who was supposed to protect them had left most of them without a drive to continue on.

But in spite of it all, they had won their fight. Meredith was done, and her Knight-Captain had let Marian and Anders simply walk away, along with the handful of remaining mages who had continued to fight. But the victory was at a great cost, and not all the mages had left. Many had never even joined the fight, opting instead to await their deaths from the annulment, locking themselves and the younger apprentices in their rooms inside the building. Of the ones who had fought, half had fled after the battle, running perhaps to their families, or maybe just out of the city; and half had actually decided to remain with the Templars. Marian supposed that Cullen looked like a safer option after Meredith's madness.

When they had escaped the Gallows, Marian had a moment of panic. Where would they go? She knew that Cullen stepping aside was nothing more than a head start. She had started mentally mapping a path out of the city through the the cliffs on the coast, but Isabela had insisted they get on her ship. Anders had stopped them immediately, told Marian that she was, in no uncertain terms, crazy for wanting to run away with him, and Isabela that she was almost as crazy for offering safe passage out of the city. Marian responded with a quip commenting that the only crazy thing she had done today was fight a madwoman imbued with red lyrium powers. He shut up, but it weighed heavily on him that Marian was choosing to leave comfort and wealth for his sake.

But no, leaving him was not an option. “ _Mae, love,_ ” he'd said to her their first night fleeing in the dark on the _Siren's Fury_. “ _Marian, this isn't what I wanted for you. You should have left me in Kirkwall. It isn't too late. You can leave me, have Isabela drop me at the shore. You could go back, still have a life. Or stay with Isabela. Marian, anything would be better than staying with me_ ”.

" _No,"_  firmly, angrily, she had said. " _Anders, this isn't up for discussion. I'm here. With you"_ she had leaned back on the the wall by the bunk they would share. " _Please, don't do the self flagellation. You know it drives me crazy. Almost as much as when you leave your socks on the bed"._ He hadn't laughed at that, not that she thought he would, but he had put his palm on her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She pondered these things as she presently stood next to him on the ship, and took his hand in hers. “It's going to be alright”. She tried to reassure him. His expression remained unchanged, and a sick wave of anxiety gripped her. _He'll come back_ she told herself. _He's still my Anders, he's still there. Be patient with him, and he'll come back from this._  She was fooling herself, perhaps, but she wasn't going to turn her back on him now.

“Just stay here. Maker only knows why you think I deserve to keep you at my side, but if you feel love for me still, you'd understand that the best thing you can do is stay happy, and safe, and free. Marian…” He pleaded with her, a last effort to have her shrug away the burden of being tethered to him. “I'll be fine. There's plenty of supplies for me to survive on. You wont have to worry about me”.

“Anders,” she said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I won't let you go”. She reached out to him, putting a hand on the feathered shoulders of his robe. He reacted so stiffly, not leaning into her grasp as he normally would. He averted his eyes again and focused on the shoreline.

She took his hand, boarded the boat, braced herself as they were lowered down to the waters, and tried her best not to look back as they rowed away.

***

Camping with Anders was quietly pleasant. 14 days at sea, losing any templars who pursued; and 15 days camping and moving as they traveled inland, not daring to enter or approach any villages they passed for fear of being recognised. It had been years since she'd lived like this, and years more since she'd actually been on the run from Templars. The quiet dinners around the fire were reminiscent of the nights she spent as a child at the fire with both her parents and brother and sister; as well as the sad time she'd spent on the run from the darkspawn after they'd lost Father and Carver. No one spoke much then, either. Marian had a sudden lurch of yearning for Bethany's company. She had stayed behind in Kirkwall. She had a duty, to return to the wardens, and she took it deeply to heart. " _We'll find each other again, little sister, don't worry!"_  she said to Bethany, tears blotting her vision. She worried that she had been lying.

Aveline and Merrill had stayed as well. The guard captain had narrowed her eyes, but assured Hawke that the Kirkwall guard was far to busy protecting civilians to pursue the criminals responsible for the explosion. Marian was grateful, knowing the personal and professional risk Aveline could face. Merrill returned to the alienage, fearful for the the elves, especially the few apostates hiding there. The parting was painful, but there was no changing it. She'd made her choice. She wouldn't abandon Anders.

Anders was so, so quiet. It was infuriating. Marian wasn't sure what to do. The guilt, the shame in his eyes was inescapable. She wasn't sure how she could fix this. But then again, when had Marian Hawke ever fixed anything? A screw up here, a happy accident there, and some very, very dumb luck had been the driving force in her life. And Anders had been broken for a long, long time. Since before she'd met him. She'd never felt the need to fix him, though. Not until now, when he seemed to barely be able to function.

At least he wasn't glowing.

Then again, at this point, she'd welcome glowing. He was barely eating or speaking. He seemed hollow, and maybe if Justice came out, she could revel in his strength and passion and fury. But this, now, was just survival. She focused all she could into getting her love to eat, to bathe, to smile.

The morning of their 16th day camping and the 30th day since the explosion, Marian was exhausted. She awoke to the sounds of Anders cooking some fennec, having pulled it out of a nearby trap she had set for food the night before. “Mae,” he spoke quietly noticing her stir awake. “Are you hungry?” Marian nodded, having had trouble finding the time and will to eat much over the last two weeks. She'd been focused on him; making sure he was fed, clothed, cleaned, and not hanging himself from a tree branch in the middle of the night, that she had, admittedly, not taken much care of herself. Not that she particularly wanted to, either. She refused to feel guilt or shame for her part in the explosion, but she couldn't shake this sick feeling in her stomach. With all her energy expended, she found herself barely able to munch on the rations Isabela had given them.

The fire crackled as Anders placed some drywood in it, carefully turning the makeshift spit to cook the skinned fennec evenly. He had some focus in his eyes; Marian had noticed it gradually returning over time, even as his personality had not. “I'll go clean myself up,” she said, climbing out of the simple tent in which they had yet to sleep together at the same time. He nodded, making eye contact, and even giving the smallest smile, affection smouldering behind his eyes.

 _There he is_. She told herself. He wasn't lost, he just needed time. He needed proof that she wasn't going anywhere, that she would remain at his side. She trudged to the stream near their campsite, cool clear water rambling over rocks into a riffling pool. She kneeled on the bank, splashed the water onto her face and relished the feeling. The smell of the cooking fennec drifted from camp and she thought she actually heard faint sounds of Anders humming as he cooked.

She turned, inhaled deeply and…

Suddenly she was hit with a wave of nausea, unexpected and overwhelming. She rose, covering her mouth instinctively, and leaned on a nearby tree. There was nothing in her stomach, in fact, it had growled in hunger when she awoke, yet her abdomen clenched as her mouth watered. She retched, vomiting nothing but bile. Anders was at her side almost instantly, holding back her hair, and whispering soothing nothings as she emptied her stomach, until she was dry heaving.

When she had finished, she breathed shallow breaths, tears streaming down her eyes. Anders helped her sit back against a different tree, wiping the tears from her face. “Mae, love, what happened? Are you alright?"

She shook her head. “I don't know, it just hit me out of nowhere”.

“You haven't eaten much more than rations in the last few days, you're body is probably reacting negatively. Go, lie down, love. I've got some herbs in my satchel, and I saw some elfroot nearby. I can brew you something to make you feel better”.

She nodded helplessly, horrified at her sudden illness, but relieved to see Anders, _her Anders_ , return. Franticly fretting over a patient, even if that patient was her, was deliciously normal for him. He tried to help her back to the tent, but the nausea returned as she grew closer to the campfire. The smoking meat was too much for her nose to handle suddenly. “It's the smell of the fennec, I think,” she said as she clasped a hand over her nose and turned away.

He looked confused, but helped her back to sit at a tree upwind from the campsite. “Just sit tight,” he said, bringing the back of his hand to her forehead, checking for fever. “I'll be right back. Sip on a bit of water”. He handed her his waterskin and hurried off.

She sat in silence, steadying her breath, closing her eyes, and trying to push away the sick feeling in her stomach. _How strange_ , she though, wondering from where her sudden illness might have come. The fennec didn't smell bad, objectively. And it hadn't bothered her right away. Her dry rations weren't spoiled, and she'd eaten nothing else that could have poisoned her. Their water had been carefully boiled before drinking, a perk of traveling with a mage who could bring a fire to his fingertips. And Makers knows she couldn't be _pregnant_.

As soon as the thought entered her mind, a knot formed in her throat. She couldn't be pregnant. Anders couldn't get her pregnant. He was a grey Warden, and the longer he was a Warden, the more infertile he became. Or so he had told her. Maybe he was wrong? No, because Bethany had confirmed it when they'd traveled to the underground prison together. Marian had been taking herbs to prevent pregnancy when she'd first started sleeping with Anders, but she stopped, and she'd taken _nothing_ in three years. She'd never had so much as a scare before. Her cycles were almost clockwork, give or take a day.

She quickly did the math in her head. When had she bled last? She'd been on the _Siren's Fury_ for just two weeks, and they'd been camping for just over two weeks. So that meant roughly a month since leaving Kirkwall. And the last time she'd bled, Maker, when was it? At least another two weeks? No, three. She'd just finished her moon time when she'd gone to the bone pit to collect the drakestone for the ‘ritual’ Anders had asked her to help with. It was three weeks after she's retrieved all the ingredients that he had enacted his justice upon the chantry

Seven weeks. Seven weeks since she'd bled last. In all her years of adulthood, her blood had _never_  been late.

She was pregnant.

Suddenly laughter bubbled under her tongue. The irony of the situation was actually funny to her. Marian had never felt she was anything like her mother. They were so different in personality, demeanor, Marian barely even looked like Leandra, having always favored her father in looks as well as personality. And yet, here Marian was, on the run, from Kirkwall, with her Apostate lover, and fucking pregnant, exactly like her mother was just over 30 years ago. Mother wouldn't have found it funny in the slightest, but Father would have howled in laughter right along with his daughter.

“Marian? Mae, what's so funny?”

“Oh Maker, I cant even…” the laughter faded as fear gripped her tight. What would he do? How would he react? She was suddenly worried he'd think that she'd cheated on him, since he was certain he couldn't impregnate her. Or maybe he'd shut down, more fearful than she, unable to cope with so much turbulence in his life at once. Or he'd beg her to end it; she knew he could brew a potion that would make a woman miscarry. Women would occasionally ask for one from his clinic, poor and scared with cruel husbands and too many born children to handle another.

What could she say? Was she even certain she was pregnant? Maybe the extreme stress was what made her skip her cycle. Maybe if she could reduce her anxiety, eat and sleep better, then she would return to normal. Maybe if she just waited, her blood would come and there would be nothing to worry about.

Anders looked at her, worried at her sudden hysteria. “Marian, talk to me. What are your symptoms?”

No. She couldn't keep this from him. Even if it was just a suspicion, even if it turned out to be nothing “Maker,” she began, searching for the right words. “My symptoms? Let's see, nausea, obviously, and, fuck. I swear, I didn't notice until just now, but with everything that happened…”

“What is it? You can tell me, Love”.

“Anders, its been 7 weeks since I bled last”. She stared at his emotionless face, biting her lip.

“What?” Anders face was confused, disbelieving. He caught her meaning quickly. “Marian, that can't be right. There's no way. Are you certain?”

She nodded silently, an unsettled nervousness welling up in her core. He was quiet for a moment, pacing over to lean on a tree branch. Deep in thought, he mumbled to himself, though Marian couldn't make out his words.

“Anders? Could you say something? Anything?” She regretted telling him suddenly. She could have waited, collected her thoughts, planned what to say instead of blurring out what was on her mind.

“You're pregnant”. He stated flatly. His eyes had a sort of dazed look to them, as though his mind were a million miles away.

“I… I think so? I don't know. My blood is never late. Could there be some other explanation?”

Anders sat down next to her, knees drawn up, resting his forehead on his palms. “I never imagined… I hadn't considered… Maker, I should have…” He trailed off, and she raised her eyebrows quizzically.

"Anders? What hadn't you considered?”

“I'm so sorry, Marian. There's no precedent for this, no examples I can draw from…” He rambled, and she waited patiently for him to finish. “I… I haven't been having dreams. Darkspawn dreams, I mean. I haven't been hearing them, or even feeling them much in the background. My thoughts have been so focused, so singular, that I didn't even notice. Justice has been at the forefront, he's been strong, overwhelming at times…” Marian looked at her lover, his face twisting back to the unbearable guilt in eyes she had tried to pull him out of. “Marian, what if Justice is suppressing the blight in my blood? Reversing it? His power has been so consuming in these last few months, with everything I have been doing, preparing… That's the only explanation I can think of, the only one that makes sense…”

Marian considered his words for a moment, but while has face showed guilt, and fear, and regret; she couldn't help the feeling of relief and happiness that washed over her. If what he said was true, didn't that mean he'd live longer? Sleep better? With Justice ever present, she supposed finding true peace with his mind may not be possible, but reversing the Grey Warden taint could only bring him closer to that possibility.

“Marian, I am so, so sorry. If I'd noticed, if I'd taken even a moment to consider the implications, I could have told you… We could have taken precautions…” His face was deeply apologetic as he stood, pacing a bit in front of her. There was much conflict behind his eyes. He stood still after a moment. He took a slow, deep breath, seeming to gather his thoughts. He finally turned and looked at her, though not in the eye. He was only a couple of feet from her, but he felt so, so distant. “Marian, I would never, ever ask you to...” he choked on his words a moment, and Marian swore she saw tears in the corners of his eyes. “I would never ask you to carry my child, in these circumstances, and if you want me to help you… End it… I will. Marian, I am so sorry I let this happen”.

She was still, speechless. She'd literally realized only moments ago that she was likely pregnant. She hadn't thought about what she wanted to do. End it? That was an option. But was it an option she wanted to consider? She had a moment, briefly, where she thought of her own childhood, her family. They never had much, and more than once they had to leave everything behind to flee the Templars, but her childhood had been happy. She had her parents and siblings. That was enough for her when she was little. Could she give her child that same happiness? With Anders? Would he be able to love and care for his child, with the same kindness and compassion and good humor that her own father had given her? Would Justice allow it?

“Anders…” she spoke softly. “Do you want this?”

He looked at her, almost horrified, distraught, even. “Marian, this isn't about me! Maker, you have have already given me too much. I could never ask this of you, after everything else you've given up for me, I couldn't ask you to tie yourself to me like that…”

She sucked in a slow breath, still fighting off the nausea. “So. You don't want this, then?” she looked down at her stomach, instinctively bringing a hand over it, over _her baby._  Maker, there it was, that word, _baby_ , entered her mind and she could never come back from it. She would leave him, she suddenly decided, if he didn't want to be a part of this. Run back to Varric, Isabela, raise the baby alone and leave him behind forever, just as he'd always asked her to.

His face turned remorseful, though, and he drew close and dropped to his knees. He clasped his hand over the back of hers, and placed the other hand directly over her abdomen. “Mae…” and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. “Of course I want this. But you deserve better than this, you're a fugitive with me, and you'd actually want to do this, stay on the run, while pregnant? And then what, birth out here, in the elements, like this? Roam trying to find safe haven from Templars with a babe at your breast?”

She felt calm all of the sudden. Her mother had done it, after all, why couldn't she? A small smile danced on her mouth. “I'll have you know,” her voice grew soft, teasing. “Some of the best people have been born in the elements, on the run from templars. Like me, for instance”.

He laughed. It was so, so good to hear his laugh. It had been gone for so long, but here it was, like music. “Marian Hawke. You are impossible,” was all he could manage to say. “But you want this, truly?”

“Maker knows I'm not ready. But I'm never ready for anything. Life has always just sort of swept me along and I deal with it however I can”. She leaned forward a bit, clasping his hands tightly. “But yes, I want this”.

He pulled her hands off her stomach and pulled her top up, exposing her skin. He placed his hands on her hand looked her in the eyes. “I can make sure, feel the baby with my magic. Maybe even a heartbeat. You know, make sure you're definitely pregnant”. Marian nodded and Anders rubbed his hands together, drawing out his magic to his palms in a soft glow. He pressed his hands on her stomach, gently, so as not to exacerbate her nausea. He focused on her belly, and a smile grew on his face.

“Marian,” he said breathily. “I can feel it. There's definitely an energy there… Wait, here, put your hands on mine”. She did so eagerly, waiting for him to continue. “Here, I'm going to amplify the heartbeat…” His hands glowed a little brighter, and Marian felt a quick pulse, faster than an adult's. She held her breath as she felt it, marveling at the life inside of her, new though it may have been.

“Anders… That's our baby”. She smiled as she looked at him, and tears blurred her vision of him.

“Our baby…” he repeated, looking dazed, but blissful. His expression turned dark as his hands lost their glow and he pulled away. “Marian, what are we going to do?”

“Well,” she smiled at him, hoping to pull him back from his darker place. “Luckily for me, I know an amazing spirit healer with extensive experience in delivering babies”. He smiled a bit and shook his head at her lighthearted tone. “And, even more luckily, he's devilishly handsome. Can't think of anyone else I'd like helping me through this”.

“I love you”. He spoke with tenderness in his voice. “I love you so much”.

He stood and held a hand out to her. She accepted and wrapped her arms around around his neck. He pulled her into a tight hug and moved to kiss her, but she turned her head away and laughed. “I don't think you want to do that…” he laughed with her and offered her his waterskin again. She accepted and took a sip, swishing away the foul taste in her mouth. “I don't think I can eat or be anywhere around that cooked meat”.

“I'll take care of it Love. And there was something I used to brew back in my clinic for pregnancy sickness. I think I have all the supplies I need to make a small batch… but we may need to travel into a town soon to restock”. He looked away, sorrow and guilt flashing across his face. “I don't know how safe that will be. We're pretty far north, and its doubtful anyone will recognise us…”

“It will be fine,” she reassured him. “If we make it to Wycome, we'll be fine. Everyone there is too drunk there to pay attention to a boring couple like us passing through”. She grinned at him and he shook his head, knowing perfectly well that they were far from boring.

He returned to the campsite to cleanup, and she sat at the tree and sipped on some water. Her hand found its way to her belly again, amazed that she had life within her now. She felt a pang of sadness, thinking of her sister, traveling Maker-knows-where throughout the Marches. She would have to find a way to contact her, and hopefully the wardens would give her leave to see the baby after it was born. What would Varric, Isabela and Fenris say? Aveline, Merrill? Maker, would they ever even know? Any contact with them had to be vague and in code, so it was unlikely. They'd have to meet in person, she supposed, and that was dangerous. Especially now, with a babe in her belly. If the Chantry found them, if the templars captured them, they would probably take the baby after it was born.

No, reaching out and telling her friends and sister would be unsafe. She and Anders would have to go through this alone.

After some time, she smelled hints of elfroot and dawn lotus drifting from the camp. She smiled, thinking that, despite everything, she was lucky. She was safe with Anders, at least as far as her pregnancy would progress. If she was ill, or had complications, he would know how to handle it. He had delivered many babies and tended to many pregnant women in his clinic.

He called her over when his potion had brewed, and she took a deep breath before going to him. _Everything will be fine_  she told herself.

_I can do this_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I headcanon that the female romance with Anders plays like the male romance (I wasn't a fan of the bi erasure, Bioware, among other things). And, given my understanding of the grey Warden taint (based on Morrigan saying that her ritual wouldn't work with Riordan, I infer that a warden's fertility is lessened as time passes until they are virtually infertile after a few years) I found Anders' last line about their future children to be too unlikely. The line at the beginning of the chapter is Anders comment from the male romance at the end of the game.
> 
> Also, I couldn't find if Isabela ever said in game what her new ship's name was, so I made up Siren's Fury as callback to her old ship, Siren's Call.


	2. Unappeased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Chantry explosion, Warden Bethany Hawke returns to her life in the order. Weeks later, she finds herself concerned for her sister's wellbeing when visitors show up at the Warden Keep in the dead of night.

Bethany Hawke trudged through the market of Ansburg, boots mud covered and Warden uniform still blood splattered. The bustling alleyway had a large variety of produce stands, and both buyers and sellers cast little more than glances toward her as she took the familiar shortcut through the city to reach the Warden Keep a mile north of Ansburg's walls. The Keep of Ansburg was the only stronghold for the wardens in the Free Marches, so the city's occupants were used to the blue and silver uniforms and griffon emblems walking amongst them. Her pack was heavy on her shoulders and her stomach growled at the sight of the colorful vegetables and fruits being bartered. Having had nothing but rations and the occasional small game to eat during her long trek back from Kirkwall, the sight of fresh, clean produce was a welcome one.

Her eyes scanned the stands and her focus was quickly drawn to a booth with baskets of bright red, green, yellow and orange bell peppers. As she approached, she noticed a figure bartering at the stand, wearing the familiar Warden heraldry. She grew closer and a warm smile spread as she caught a profile view of the Warden's face.

“Nathaniel!?” she shouted loudly enough to be heard over the busy hum of the market. The figure turned and made eye contact, brows raised in surprised as he smiled back at her. She rushed over and threw her arms around him planting a kiss on his crooked nose. “Oh, Maker, are you a sight for sore eyes!”

Nathaniel laughed in joy at her enthusiastic greeting and answered her greeting with a kiss to her lips, brief but earnest. “Beth, you made it back in one piece! Not that I ever doubted you, but…” he trailed off, face sobering as he pulled back to look at her.

“I know, I know. It was chaos. Absolute chaos”. She shook her head as she recalled the bloody battle fought in the gallows.

“Here, give me that”. He motioned to her pack and she gladly handed it over. He pulled some coin from his pockets and handed it to the merchant at the pepper stand, taking two yellow and two red from the array. He wordlessly handed her a red one and deposited the other three in his cloth pouch at his side. She felt a warmth in her chest as she accepted it, happy that Nathaniel remembered that red peppers were her favorite. He put a hand to the small of her back and together they walked out of the crowded space in front of the stand. “What was the explosion?” he asked, once they were in a less crowded part of the street.

“Oh Maker. The Chantry”. Bethany's stomach twisted as she remembered seeing the explosion from the distance of the trail at the base of Sundermount. She had been riding with a small scouting party, noting areas with darkspawn activity to map out new openings to the deep roads, when the explosion had lit the sky over the city. Their senior Warden had insisted they continue, that they didn't have time to waste on intervening in city emergencies. Bethany begged, and Nathaniel backed her up, insisted she go to her family. The senior Warden conceded, on the condition that she go alone; Nathaniel couldn't accompany her. It was petty, the officer knew of and didn't approve of their relationship. Bethany had looked and Nathaniel with pleading eyes, and he had simply kissed her on the forehead and told her to go to her sister, and be safe, and that he would see her back in Ansburg.

“Yes, the rumors had drifted here that something destroyed the Chantry”. Nathaniel pulled her aside, against the wall of a building, and pulled out a small knife to slice her pepper. “I'm not going to lie, I've been worried sick”.

She accepted the slice he handed to her and looked at the ground sadly. “Not something. Someone”. She took the pepper slice and bit into it, crunching into it and letting the sweet flavor take her away for a moment. “It was Anders”. She said softly after swallowing.

“Anders?” His brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

"Don't say anything to Stroud, or anyone, please”. She looked up at him, pleading. “He ran… And Marian went with him”. She looked away, sadness overwhelming her as she thought of her sister. “I don't know why, or what he was thinking, but he killed everyone in the Chantry. And the Templars and Mages started fighting. And my sister, my stupid, sappy sister, she stayed by his side. And when the fighting had stopped, when the Enchanter and Knight-Commander were dead on the ground, she ran away with him”. She took another slice of pepper and munched on it, unable to continue speaking as her tears began to form in her eyes. She blinked them away as Nathaniel put his hand on the back oh her neck, lightly stroking and giving her goosebumps.

“I won't say anything,” he said gently. “There are so many rumors floating around town. You said Mages and Templars were fighting? What happened?”

“After the explosion, the Knight-Commander declared the right of annulment. The circle fought back. Maker, it was a bloodbath…” she leaned a shoulder against the wall and folded her arms. She thought of Orsino succumbing to possession, of Meredith's wild eyes as the red lyrium weapon shone in her hands. And of Marian, fearlessly leaping forward, daggers in hand, that arrogant grin on her face, depending on nothing more than luck and Anders' healing and protection spells.

Bethany had always looked up to Marian, idolized her even. When they were little, she and Marian would play in the creek near their town, often leaving Carver behind. Bethany was cautious, stepping gingerly on the stones, trying not to soak her feet or stumble. Meanwhile, Marian would make a game out of jumping to and from the farthest stones, often falling and getting cuts, scrapes and bruises. And after, she would stand up, usually dripping wet, and laugh, wiping away blood and encouraging her little sister to just live already, and to stop worrying about getting hurt.

Back then, she had thought Marian to be brave. Now, all she could think about was how reckless her sister was, even into adulthood. Running away with Anders was colossally stupid. Maker, what was she thinking? She supposed "love" entered into the equation, but Bethany couldn't imagine staying at the side of a murderer, even if it was done in the name of Justice.

Bethany did not discuss Anders with the other wardens, only with Nathaniel. His merge with Justice remained unknown to Stroud and the others in the Free Marches' order, as well as the Wardens in Ferelden. When Bethany had first grown close to Nathaniel, she had revealed Anders possession, or union, or whatever it could be called, to Nathaniel. He had been surprised, claiming that the Anders he had known was carefree and selfish; an Anders committed to justice and helping the impoverished and freeing circle mages was something he struggled to grasp. As far as all the other wardens knew, Anders had simply escaped the wardens tor the same reasons he had run from the circle so many times. He craved freedom, and his defection from the wardens was not unexpected, especially given Warden Elissa Cousland's frequent absences from the Amaranthine keep. Her seneschal was a burly man, a former command in the royal army. He ran a much stricter keep than Elissa. His disappearance during one of Cousland's absences hadn't come as surprise to anyone. Bethany's assertion that he had Justice in his head, however, came as quite a shock to Nathaniel. Though he had always assumed Justice would need to take another vessel, Anders seemed an unlikely candidate.

“What about the city, the bystanders?” Nathiel asked, shaking her from her thoughts.

“Guard-Captain Aveline managed to keep civilian deaths to a minimum. There was a lot of destruction, but it was mostly the mages staving off Templars as they fled to the Gallows”. She recounted the horrific events, from Orsino's helpless bidding of a demon for aid, to Meredith's corruption from the red lyrium. Nathaniel listened patiently, pulling out a yellow pepper and slicing pieces for himself.

“I don't even know what to say,” Nathaniel's brow furrowed. “I know what you've told me about him, about them. But I knew them both, and I never could hand imagined either of them doing something like that,” he said of Anders and Justice. Bethany sighed and linked her arm into his. She began pulling him with her as she walked toward the city's northern gate.

“I don't know, Nathaniel. The whole thing… It's awful. I don't think I want to talk about it anymore”. She finished the last bit of her pepper's flesh, then tucked the stem and seeds away in Nathaniel's shopping satchel, knowing she could cook with the remaining piece that evening.

“Right. Then perhaps we can talk about Stroud”.

Bethany groaned. “Maker, how upset is he?” Bethany tucked away a loose strand of hair behind her ear with one hand, and gripped Nathaniel's arm slightly harder with the other.

“Not as much as you'd think. After all, you only arrived a day after the rest of us. But he is in a bit of a frenzy…” His voice was casual and reassuring. “When we returned, he informed us we needed to be in top form and condition because the esteemed Ferelden Warden-Commander will be arriving in about 6 weeks”.

Bethany stopped in her tracks. Nathaniel looked at her, a slight smile twitching at the corners of his lips. She folded her arms at her chest and looked at him anxiously. “Maker, you're joking! The Hero of Ferelden?”

“Don't call her that when she arrives,” Nathaniel said to her teasingly. “And definitely don't call her 'My Lady'. She hates that almost as much as Hero”.

She gave him a light smack on the arm. “Don't make fun of me. This is a big deal, isn't it? She doesn't visit any other keeps, why would she be interested in the Marcher wardens?”

Nathaniel simply shrugged in response. “I haven't the slightest idea. I've had no contact with her since I left Ferelden”. His face shifted back to a serious look. Granted, serious and sour seemed to be his resting  expression, and Bethany greatly enjoyed pulling him into a more playful state, but the subject of Ferelden always touched a bit of a nerve.

Nathaniel certainly loved the Marches, Bethany had learned over the years, but Ferelden was his home. The Amaranthine keep was where he had spent his childhood, difficult though it may have been. But when he had returned to Ferelden and joined the wardens, he had assumed he would continue to serve there. That changed, however, when Queen Anora had learned of Nathaniel and his sister's presence in Amaranthine. The Queen held a great distrust and grudge against the Howe family, and the Warden-Commander had learned that the Royal guard had been dispatched to come and arrest Nathaniel and Delilah, and question their involvement in their Father's crimes (never mind that Nathaniel had been out of the country for 8 years prior).

Nathaniel and his sister, along with his brother-in-law and newborn nephew, all fled to the Marches in hopes that the Queen would leave them be. Commander Cousland had been the one who learned of the plans and was the person to arrange the transport for them. Nathaniel hadn't want to leave his home, not like that, but was left with little choice given the circumstances. Bethany was saddened by his difficulties, though she was grateful she had met him. Leaving home was hard, no matter the circumstance.

“Well,” Bethany spoke lightly, trying to avert the subject of Ferelden. “This will be interesting, to be sure”.

“She's not who the stories make her out to be. I think she'll like you”.

"You think? Well, that isn't especially reassuring" she laughed and he rolled his eyes.

“Come, now. Lets go to the keep, Stroud will want to know you've arrived”.

***

Stroud in a frenzy was a little unsettling. He barely acknowledged Bethany's presence as he barked instruction at Nathaniel to ensure that the recruits under his command were to be in the yard, training each day. “And get that wolf out of the fucking larder! The cooks wont even go near the door!” Stroud grumbled something about dangerous pets and Nathaniel simply rolled his eyes.

“I'll get him, Stroud”. Bethany  elbowed Nathaniel and headed toward the kitchens to retrieve the animal in question.

Nathaniel was a Senior Warden, though the title didn't hold a great amount of authority, he was still expected to oversee the ensigns as they trained. Bethany herself was still considered an ensign, though she was only two years his junior in the order. She had never overseen a joining before, perhaps because she had such negative feelings about her own joining, for which she hadn't volunteered. The nightmares, the ache in her blood, the militaristic lifestyle, she had been prepared for none of it and had an extremely difficult time adjusting. When Nathaniel had transferred, he enjoyed teasing and complimenting her to upend her sour disposition. It had worked after a time, though she still struggled daily to accept her fate.

She arrived at the kitchens where two humans and three elves were bickering as they prepared dinner. “Excuse me,” she interrupted, and the 5 of them glanced up. “Is Midnight causing trouble in here? Stroud mentioned he was in the larder”.

“Maker's breath, tell that Howe boy to keep that beast on a leash or in his room, or let it back i to the fuckin' wilderness. Scared the daylights out of us!” The cook, Nora, waved her spoon in the air threateningly, and Bethany tried to calm her.

“I'll get him, don't worry! Just wait here, and you'll be able to get back in the larder in a moment”. Bethany approached the door, and heard growling on the other side as her footsteps sounded. Two of the elves screeched and ran out of the kitchen as Nora hollered at them to get back in and get back to work.

Honestly, Bethany couldn't understand what they were afraid of. Midnight never hurt anyone, well, except for darkspawn and other hostile beasts. And bandits, but only at Nathaniel's command. She opened the door and there crouched the wolf, who was defensively baring his teeth. “Shhhh. Midnight, you big furball. Its only me”. His stance relaxed a bit, but his teeth remained bared as his eyes darted their focus behind Bethany, where Nora stood aggressively wielding her stirring spoon. “Did mean old Nora lock you in here? You were just looking for a snack, weren't you?” Bethany smiled at him as he relaxed his face and sat up, ears perked. “Come on, boy. Nathaniel brought you some peppers. Lets go find him. Maybe you can teach those new recruits a thing or two in the training yard while you're at it”. The Wolf's ears perked at the promise of a treat and he padded to Bethany's side.

“Alright, everyone can calm down. I've got him, he's not going to bite”. She led him out the door, Nora grumbling something about wardens having no civilized manners.

The training yard was busier than usual, Nathaniel overseeing the archer's targets. There were some new faces, five, to be exact, and Bethany suspected they would have a joining ceremony that evening. She was not especially thrilled with the idea, seeing recruits drink from the blood concoction brought back foul memories and usually one of the recruits would not survive the poison.

Midnight rushed toward Nathaniel, jumping up on him and sniffing out the peppers in the cloth satchel at his waist. It nearly knocked Nathaniel over, and Bethany couldn't help but giggle as he awkwardly pulled the hulking canine down and scolded him for jumping. After Midnight had calmed, Nathaniel pulled out a yellow pepper and tore off a crisp piece, which the wolf hungrily accepted.

“He was in the Larder because Nora locked him in there,” Bethany explained. “I promised him a pepper to bribe him to leave the kitchens”. She approached Nathaniel and watched over the recruits with him. “How many are joining this time?”

“We have five. They just returned with their blood, and Stroud and I are going to prepare the ritual in an hour, and they'll join at sundown”. he stood from his kneeling position and crossed his arms as he looked toward the recruits.

“Are they here voluntarily?” There was a saddness in her voice that she hadn't meant to let out. She always felt bad for recruits who were conscripted.

“3 of them are. The other two were plucked out of Wycome's prison”. Nathaniel said with a reassuring voice.

“Poor sods. They don't know what they're in for”. She crossed her arms spoke almost absently.

“None of us did, not until after. But it's necessary”. He put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye as she turned to meet his gaze.

“I suppose. Maybe we'll get lucky and we won't lose any of them,” Bethany replied.

“Perhaps. Oh, Stroud informed me you are to be present at the preparations,” he added as though it were nothing more than a casual comment.

She looked at him, slack jawed and shocked. “Stroud wants me there? But I'm…”

"Reluctant, argumentative, and deeply cynical about the Order?" He helpfully finished for her.

“Well, you don't have to put it like that”.

Nathaniel shrugged. "You're ready. You've been a Warden 6 years. He thinks it's time you stepped up".

“He thinks, or you think?” She narrowed her eyes, suspecting Nathaniel had something to do with the sudden promotion.

“I may have been the one to bring it up. But he agreed. You aren't idealistic. You've got a sober attitude. That sort of thing can serve you well leading missions”.

“Leading? Maker, he wants me in charge of other wardens? Is he having his calling or something? Surely he's gone crazy,” she laughed in disbelief at the thought of leading esigns into the deep roads and giving orders that could lead to deaths.

Nathaniel just laughed with her. “Come on, Love. Don't sell yourself short. You're suited just fine for being in charge. Could be a fine Commander someday".

She scoffed. “Unlikely. But if he wants me to learn the joining, I'll do it”.

Nathaniel smiled and kissed her forehead. “Well, Ill see you in there, then. Now, if you'll excuse me, Midnight and I have some ensigns to whip into shape”. And he lead his wolf off to the sparring yard.

***

Bethany was no stranger to awful dreams. Demons had haunted her dreams from a young age, and 6 years of darkspawn nightmares had dulled her to the whole concept. That night, however, her rest was fitful as the sight of the two lifeless bodies of the joining recruits plagued her, the same dream that had haunted her for 3 weeks since she oversaw her first joining after returning from Kirkwall. The dreams had gradually lessened in that time, but this particular night an unpleasant dream had hit her hard. Staying asleep had been very difficult during that time, or at least more difficult than usual, and she was grateful for Nathaniel's presence in their bed. She curled up into his chest, clutching the blanket tightly in her fist. His chest rose and fell, sleeping much more peacefully than she could, and she closed her eyes and tried to match the rhythm of his breath.

Just when she was beginning to feel calm enough to drift off, both she and Nathaniel were jolted awake by a pounding on the door.

“Howe! Hawke! Up. Unlock the door. Something urgent has come up”. Stroud's voice boomed through the door of Bethany and Nathaniel's shared quarters. Midnight's ears perked and he stood in a defensive position, a small snarl on his lips.

“Andraste's tits, Stroud! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!” Nathaniel sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. He didn't do well being woken up violently.

Bethany adjusted a bit easier, since she hadn't been completely asleep. “Stroud. We aren't decent. Give us a moment,” she said with a touch of irritation in her voice. What on earth could Stroud need at this hour? She glanced at Nathaniel, who was grumbling as he pulled the sheets off his nude body. She watched him swing is legs over the side and  take a moment to rest his forearms on his thighs while he hunched over tiredly. The moonlight made it a lovely sight, accenting his lean musculature and faint scars. She smirked to herself and rolled herself off the bed to pull on some breeches and a tunic. She  tossed his breeches to him, landing nicely on top of his  head as she giggled. He grumbled something unintelligible and began pulling them up his legs.

She stood and unlocked the door. The moment the locked clicked, Stroud turned the knob and flung the door open, and Bethany's agile reflexes were the only thing that made her step aside quickly enough to stop herself from getting knocked over. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“What?” Nathaniel asked, annoyed. “There'd better be fucking archdemon, or I'll-”

Stroud cut him off. “There are Templars here for Bethany”.

Nathaniel and Bethany were silent for a moment, processing what was just said. “What do you mean, ' _here for Bethany_ '?” Nathaniel piqued.

“They want to take her into the Ansburg chantry for questioning. I'm sure you can imagine the purpose of their interrogation”.

“Well, that's not happening. She's a Senior Warden now. She has responsibilities to tend here”. Nathaniels voice was laced with anger, which made his voice come out with a hiss.

“Of course, I told them as much. But they are insistent. They wish to question you here if I refuse to release you to them”. Stroud spoke directly to Bethany.

Bethany felt a sickness in her gut. Of all the things she had learned to fear in her life, the fear of templars was the most deep seated. Even before her magic showed, she was always worried that a Templar would take her father from their family. Templar discovery hadn't been a tangible fear in years, since being a Warden absolved her of the requirement to submit to the circle, but now the fears all came crashing back.

Nathaniel turned to her, crossing his arms, his face no longer had the groggy droop in his ears, now he look angry and fierce. “We can send them away. Wardens have no duty to the chantry”.

Stroud huffed. “Excuse me, Howe. But I am Warden-Commander in this keep. I decide whether we cooperate with the Chantry”.

“Your joking, right? Is that a joke? Mage Wardens are no longer Templar Charges. They have no right to-” Nathaniel ranted.

Stroud interrupted him again. “That may be so, but cooperating with outside authorities is important to the Order. I have decided that they may question Bethany, who with have an escort of her choice in the room. The interrogation will happen in my office”. Stroud stroked the stubble on his chin and looked at them both with narrow eyes.

“Maker. Were you going to ask me, or is this and order?” Bethany's voice was quivering, and she suddenly had a hard time breathing deeply enough to fill her lungs.

“Consider it an order. I want them out of my keep as much as you do, the best way to get them out is to give them what they want”.

“What they want? You mean me?” Bethany's voice grew more panicked, and Nathaniel stood beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder protectively.

“No, obviously! They want information, about your sister and her part in the Chantry explosion, no doubt. And you'll give it to them”.

“I don't have any information!” she exclaimed, but she knew that wasn't convincing.

“Of course you do. You arrived after the fighting began, defended yourself and your family, then said farewell to your sister as she fled by ship. Then you returned to your sacred duty to protect the realm from Darkspawn”. He spoke simply, and Bethany understood his meaning. Tell the truth, just maybe not the whole truth.

“I'm going in with her. And Midnight, too”. Stroud rolled his eyes as the wolf perked up and stood beside Nathaniel at the mention of his name. He then nodded at Nathaniel in approval.

“Right. I guess I should dress. Full armor, probably?” Bethany folded her arms nervously, making herself small and slouched.

“Bring your staff, as well. The Chantry will not forget that our Mages fight for the realm the same as an archer or a warrior. Nathaniel, full gear as well. I trust the two of you will handle this and get them out of my keep”.

“You know, Stroud”. Bethany's voice came out more meek than she'd meant. “This could have waited until morning”.

“No,” he said curtly. “I want them gone before the others awaken. I'll not have any of my mage wardens fearful that they be dragged back to the circles”.

“Right. Just me,” Bethany said sourly.

“Don't take such an insubordinate tone. You were the one who left your scouting party to investigate Kirkwall. Had you simply remained with your fellow wardens, I would have no reason to let these Templars in. They'd be outside the gate on their asses”. Stroud's face grew decidedly less sympathetic than a moment ago, a scowl crossing his lips.

“Right. Yes, sorry”. Bethany looked at the ground and tried to collect the anxiety growing within her. “You can inform them Ill be there shortly, I simply need to dress”. Stroud nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as it shut, her calm demeanor crumbled as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Maker, what have I gotten into?”

“I'm going to be right there with you. Midnight too. Nothing's going to happen; like Stroud said, just tell them what you know in the least detail possible, and they'll leave”. Nathaniel spoke gently as he went to their small dresser to retrieve their uniforms. She nodded wordlessly and followed him, accepting her tunic from him and beginning to dress.

When they arrived at Stroud's office, when he was waiting with the Templars, Bethany pushed her fear away, reminding herself that she was safe with the wardens, with Nathaniel.

They swung the doors open, and were greeted by three figures in heavy Chantry armor. Two were males wearing traditional silver plate with the Templar emblem on the chest, sunburst robes from the waist down, and winged helms. The third figure was a female in much darker armor. The plate was almost black, and the chest piece featured an eye with a sunburst behind it. She wore no helm, though her expression was as hard as one.

“Bethany Hawke, I presume?” the woman inquire sharply, her accent thickly Nevaaren.

“Actually,” Nathaniel interjected with a scowl. “Senior Warden Hawke”.

The woman's brow lowered and a frown grew on her scared face. “Very well. Though I had no idea apostates were granted prestigious titled in the Warden ranks”.

Stroud growled in response. “We all abandon our former burdens and privileges in the order. There are no nobles, beggars, criminals, enchanters or apostates in our ranks. Only defenders against the Blight”.

“Hmf. Warden Hawke, I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth for the Divine. You are likely able to discern why I am here”.

Bethany took a deep breath as subtly as she could manage. Seeker of Truth? The title rung familiar, and she did her best to recall if her father had ever mentioned such a title. Her memory was faint, but she was certain a Seeker was a high ranking Templar of some sort. “Seeker Pentaghast,” Bethany spoke slowly and measuredly. “So that there are no misunderstandings, it would be best if you explained plainly why you are here, then I can assist you to the best of my limited ability, then you and your men can be on your way”. She resisted the urge to look at Nathaniel to her side for reassurance, but Stroud appeared impressed with her eloquence.

“I will leave you be,” Stroud said authoritatively. "Senior Warden Howe will remain. You understand, of course," he gave a simple nod and exited his office, closing the double doors behind him.

“Have a seat”. Cassandra ordered as though it were her own office.

“I'll stand, thank you,” Bethany spoke with a voice equally commanding, or so she hoped. Cassandra scowled and leaned back on Stroud's desk.

“Very well. Have it your way. I will be concise. You witnessed the events at Kirkwall. The destruction of the Maker's Temple, the chaotic fighting in the city, the battle in the Gallows, and the escape of your sister with the Apostate responsible”.

“That isn't a question,” Bethany pointed out. Cassandra made an irritated noise.

“The question is,” Cassandra continued, “what was your role in the events?”

“My role?” Bethany practically laughed. “As my fellow wardens can confirm, I had no role in the events, other than a reactionary one. I saw the explosion from a distance, and, fearing for my family's life, I was given leave to investigate”.

“And?” Cassandra prompted.

“And, I entered the city, found my sister being attacked by Templars, helped her defend herself, then bid her farewell as she left”.

“On the ship of a known thief and smuggler”. Cassandra added.

“On the ship of a friend”. Bethany said simply. “I haven't lived in the city for years. I've no idea what her friends are involved in”.

“Fine. But you were in the Gallows. What can you tell me about Orsino?”

Bethany paused before answering, determined to choose her words carefully. “I'm not sure I know an Orsino”.

Cassandra huffed in exasperation. “Reports say that the First Enchanter succumbed to possession, attacking mages and Templars alike”. She crossed her arms, her scowl somehow growing deeper. “We are attempting to determine how long the First Enchanter had been a Malificarum”.

“There was a demon”. Bethany said nonchalantly. “But I did not see who or what brought the demon forth”.

Cassandra was growing visibly angry at Bethany's evasiveness. “And what of the Knight-Commander?” she asked sharply.

“The Knight Commander assaulted her own Templars. That much I witnessed clearly”. Bethany was growing tired of this line of questioning very quickly, eager to answer shortly.

The seeker continued her questions in a sharp, impatient voice. Question after question, and Bethany tried to remain as nondescript with her answers. Seeker Pentaghast wanted to know everything, from Bethany's own apostasy, to Marians business dealings and personal life, and she continually fished for names, which Bethany purposfully left out of her responses.

“Well,” Cassandra spoke coldly after some time. “I can see you are determined to conceal the details of the incident. So I'll ask you something simple. Where is the Champion of Kirkwall?”

“How in the Maker's name should I know? Perhaps she's still at sea, or back in Kirkwall, or inland in Ferelden or Orlais. Your guess is as good as mine”.

“So there is no place that you know of where they may have sought refuge?” Cassandra's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Bethany wondered if her answers would be accepted by the Seeker. She truthfully had no idea where Marian may have fled. And she certainly had no way of contacting her to even find out. Would the Seeker believe her?

“No,” Bethany answer curtly. “I've no idea”.

“Because,” Cassandra stood from her leaning position and put her hands behind her back, pacing along the bookshelf on the west end of the room. "I've been wondering, if our intel is correct, the Mage responsible for the destruction is a renegade Warden”. Cassandra paused and ran her finger along the spine of a book on the history of the Ansburg Keep. “So you can understand, of course, why we would be interested in this location. Since, as your Commander helpfully reminded us, the Grey Wardens do not recognize criminals in their ranks. And so, considering his ties the wardens, and her ties to you, we wonder if perhaps they may have sought refuge here”.

Bethany almost laughed at the absurdity. “What, do you think I've hidden her under my bed? Perhaps in the barrels in the larder?”

“Well, we wouldn't know unless we searched the Keep”. Cassandra turned back toward Bethany and Nathaniel, eyeing Midnight cautiously.

Nathaniel stepped forward and scowled at the Seeker. “You will not get permission from us to search our Keep. There is no reason they would come here; and besides, you would have to take that up with Stroud. He is the Commander here, not us”.

“Believe me, I will take it up with him”. Cassandra stepped close to Nathaniel and stood just a foot from his face, intimidating, despite her shorter height.

Bethany inserted herself between them. “Seeker Pentaghast, I'm certain I have no more useful information for you. I think its time Commander Stroud saw you out”.

“I have one final question. I know you are acquainted with a Varric Tethras. He is a person of interest in our investigation, considering he has printed several stories about the Champion”.

"Once again, that's not a question”. Bethany said crossly.

"I trust that if either of them contact you, you will inform the Chantry". Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “And if it is discovered that you are in contact and withhold that from the Chantry…” Cassandra trailed off with a threatening tone in her voice.

Bethany held her breath as the Seeker and her templars nodded knowingly at one another before pushing past her and Nathaniel. Midnight growled at them, teeth bared and ready to pounce while Nathaniel made no effort to restrain him. They did not close the door behind them, and Bethany leaned out of the doorway to peer at them as they walked away. Stroud was at the far end of the the hall and she waited and watched as they approached the Commander to speak with him about searching the keep.

“Bethany…” Nathaniel's voice was soft as he tugged at her tunic. “Beth… one of the recruits from the joining you oversaw, she was a templar trainee”.

Bethany paused thoughtfully to consider the implications. “She couldn't be a spy. Weren't they all recruited before the explosion?”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean she wasn't recruited to be a spy. With tensions as high as they have been in the circles, we have had an influx of mage recruits. It's not inconceivable that the Order send someone to watch the mages here on their behalf. In any case, if anyone-anyone at all- from Kirkwall contacts you, don't tell Stroud”.

Bethany nodded in agreement. They both watched as the conversation became visibly heated between the Commander and the Seeker. Stroud's mustache was twitching in anger as Cassandra's voice rose loud enough to hear. “-uncoopertave, insubordinate actions! The divine will hear of this, believe me!”

Stroud's voice grew louder and more angry. “Insubordination is not possible! The Grey Wardens are not subordinate to the Chantry!” Bethany grabbed Nathaniel and pulled him by the arm back down the hall toward their quarters. Midnight trodded closely behind, ears pulled back menacingly as a defence to the tense atmosphere.

She didn't want to hear any more of the arguing, and certainly didn't want to speak to the Seeker again. The questioning was brief, but left her shaken. They arrived at their room and closed the door behind them.

“Nathaniel, she knows of Varric. Of Isabela. No doubt she's been to Kirkwall and spoken to Aveline”. Bethany paced nervously about their small room. Midnight sat in the center and tilted his head, a small whine coming from his throat in concern for Bethany's nervous behaivor. "What if she does find Marian?"

Nathaniel leaned against the locked door. "You and your sister evaded Templar detection for your entire lives. She knows how to keep hidden. I'm sure she'll be fine".

Bethany shook her head. "She's not the same anymore. Not with Anders. She's careless, reckless. If I hadn't been forced to join the wardens, she never would have involved herself in these subversions to the Circle with Anders. She would have taken me away, hidden with me. But since I've been gone, it's like she doesn't care what happens. She'd punch a Templar's face without fear of repercussions. Maker, I wouldn't put it past them to personally start riots in the Circles across the Marches!" Bethany's voice became increasingly panicked as she spoke.

"Beth, Beth," Nathaniel grabbed both her arms reassuringly. "Listen, your sister will be fine. She's always been fine, she'll continue to be fine. After what she faced in the Gallows, keeping free from Templars will be easy for her comparatively". He wiped away a stray tear from her face with his thumb. "Maker knows I can't stop you worrying, but try to calm yourself a bit. They are obviously struggling to find her if they came questioning you, someone who has only seen her a couple of times over the past few years".

Bethany nodded in acknowledgment, but there was a persistently sick feeling in her gut. She wished she had a way to safely reach out to her sister, or even Varric or Isabela or Fenris, to see if she was safe. But that would be counterintuitive, since that would only serve to put her in danger.

She peered out the small window of their room. the moon was high and the night was still dark. She doubted sleep would come easy, but she watched as Nathaniel began to doff his armor and sit on the bed. She stepped over to him and pressed her forehead to his. She, too, disrobed and joined him on the mattress that was just a little too stiff, but more comfortable than she had been used to in her former life. As Nathaniel murmured gentle nothings to calm her, she pressed her eyes closed and said a prayer, something she rarely did these days.

 _Maker, please, please, keep my sister alive and well._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel is a ranger in cannon, right? I think so. He always had a wolf at his side when I played awakenings. Also, I unapologetically ship Nathaniel and Bethany.


	3. Unsung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and Alistair make their way to the Warden Keep in Ansburg.

_Down. Down. Follow me down._

Elissa sat on a rock near the brook where Alistair knelt, splashing his face with the cool water. Her gaze strayed from the view of husband as he dried his hands, mindlessly focused on a cluster of rocks in the flowing stream of water.

_Down. Down. Deep, deep down._

Her eyes closed for a moment, and she let herself get lost in the song that was radiating from the back of her mind.

 _Deep, deep in the warmth, the glow._  
_Find me, find me, find me below._

The words were clear, but hushed. It was a whisper of a song, and it tugged at the edge of her senses at all times. A call. The Calling. It was beautiful, and it frightened her. The lull of the rushing water in the brook only served as melody to the song, and as the words drifted through her, she felt the urge, that insatiable urge, to follow the sound and reach its source.

"Oh!  
The best of us ran when the dreadnought was sighted!  
Nuggins, Nuggins! For he heard the call."

Elissa's eyes flew open at the off pitch sound of Alistair's singing voice. He had put his gauntlets back on and appeared ready to travel after their short rest. He had noticed her absent minded state, no doubt, and did what he did best to pull her back to reality. His hand reached out for her, beckoning her to take it in hers. He had that smirk on his face, that stupid, adorable, infuriating, lovable smirk, and he belted out the next lines, somehow more off key than before.

"Tripped nine Qunari, and that's why he's knighted!  
Nuggins, Nuggins! As brave as he's small!'

She burst into giggles as she accepted his outstretched hand. She stood and dusted off her leathers, the Call still there, but pushed away to the farthest corner of her mind. She joined his song, voice much more in tune with the song's original melody than his. Her soprano rang out over his baritone.

"Oh!  
A shore full of pirates, the worst set to happen.  
Nuggins, Nuggins! His heart pure and true!"

Alistair grabbed her around the waist and spun with her in some semblance of a ballroom dance. She laughed and scarcely was able to sing through it, but Alistair compensated and articulated the words better than she could. Together they continued,

"Tripped him an admiral, now he's our captain!  
Nuggins, Nuggins! For me and for you!"

She followed his lead as he danced, poorly, with her, in the middle of the forests of the Free Marches. Never mind that she actually knew how to properly dance in a variety of styles, including Ballroom, and could have lead him to dance much better than they were at that moment. But that wasn't what this was about, and they both knew it. It was a distraction, a deflection. Her early Calling was devastating them both and this was the only way he knew to cope.

"Oh!  
The blight was upon us, and we found no pardon.  
Nuggins, Nuggins! Now he'll make a stand!  
Tripped up the darkspawn, and now he's a Warden!  
Nuggins, Nuggins! For all in the land!'

Laughter was what they'd had, from the first time they met, to the first time they'd kissed, to their impromptu wedding after he returned to Amaranthine, all the way to now, when she was dying. He refused to say the word, but she knew she'd have to face it soon. Death in the deep roads. The alternative, the insanity that would take her if she didn't submit to death, was unthinkable.

"Oh!  
Paraded through Kirkwall as hero and winner!  
Nuggins, Nuggins! Stubborn and vicious!"

Alistair lifted her up just a foot off the ground, a simple feat for him, since he was powerfully strong while she was lean and lithe. She dropped back to the ground and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was sturdy and grounded, and he was laughing as they both finished the final verse.

"Tripped up a viscount, now he's for dinner!  
Nuggins, Nuggins! Of course he's delicious!"

Her laughter persisted as Alistair began humming the tune, somehow sounding even more off pitch than before. He let go of her and gathered their packs and weapons that they had set aside during their brief rest. His humming continued and Elissa's giggles finally waned as he handed her pack over. When he finished humming through a verse and gathering their belongings, he was silent for a moment, looking at her with a saddness that she hated to see on his face.

“How bad?” he asked softly.

“It's not bad now. Singing and talking helps,” she offered reassuringly, though he was far from reassured. She began walking east and he stepped in stride beside her. “But I think… We need to talk about the reality here, love”.

He stared ahead, lost in thought. When she'd begun to hear the Call months ago, he was in denial. ‘ _You joined during the blight, so you're more connected. You drank that Maker-forsaken blood concoction from Avernus so the taint is just a little stronger. Its not your Call, its too soon. You are just hearing the hive mind clearer than most, but you aren't going crazy. Everything is fine_ ’. His list of explanations was a mile long, but she couldn't lie to herself the way he was. It wasn't just the song, it was the ever-present pull, that drive to go to the song's source. When she'd finally managed to articulate to him that it was more than just a song, he shut down and could barely even speak about it. In the rare moments he did, his face was so heartbreaking. She hated it.

“I know”. He was matter of fact, dismissing the conversation with his tone, telling her that he already knew the reality, but he certainly didn't need to talk about it.

“Do you want to go with me?” she asked him with a casual tone, as though she were asking if he want to go to the market with her. But he knew the truth. She was going to the deep roads, to her death.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “What are you asking me, Elissa? If I want to die with you?”

She scoffed at him and turned up her chin “Under no circumstances will you be dying with me”. She crossed her arms. “If that were the case, if we were to play out some ridiculous Antivian tragedy, then we would have gone to the roads in Fereldan and died in each other's embrace as a hurlock impaled us at once”.

He didn't look her in the eye. Just stared straight ahead as they came to a clearing in the forest where a trail to the highway could be seen. “ _Riiiight_. Nothing about our lives is the makings of an Antivan Tragedy”. The sarcasm in his voice was heavy.

“Oh? Yes we're a walking comedy duo, aren't we?” she teased. He didn't laugh, so she sighed and continued. “No, as it stands, we're going to the Deep Roads, I'm staying, you're not. Nathaniel is still the Marcher's Order. He'll escort us down, and you back up”.

“Really? An escort? What am I, ten?” Alistair snorted in response. She hated when he took that tone, acting like a child while demanding he not be treated like one.

“Maker, don't be like that. No one should be in the deep roads alone”. She sighed, trying to take a disinterested tone.

He didn't respond, so she simply sighed and stated humming to herself, forcing away the petulant Old God song.

Before she could get far in her tune, Alistair held up a hand, signaling her to silence. She instantly put her hands on her daggers and waited for him to signal further. There were no Darkspawn, she would have sensed them before he did were that the case. He gripped his shield and unsheathed his sword (Her sword and shield, rather, both bearing the Cousland family crest. But he was basically a Cousland since he had given up the Therin name and married her), then cautiously stepped forward.

Once she focused, she heard voices, two men and a woman, with distinctly Tevinter dialects. They were distant, but as they slowly stepped closer, a carriage was visible. Staves were held by one man and the woman, and the other man was heavily armored and wielding a maul. And the carriage was no simple one, it was caged. There were four youths in it, as far as Elissa could tell from this distance.

“Slavers”. Alistair murmured low enough for only his wife to hear.

“A bit far south, don't you think?" She replied in a whisper.

“I think maybe we should have a friendly chat”.

“I could sneak up on them, take out the mages quickly, then you rush in on the armored one,” She said breathily.

“Too risky,” he shook his head. "Not much cover in this clearing. I can cleanse the area, maybe? You distract them first, I drain their magic and you stab when their guard's down".

“A sound plan. Let's go on”. She sheathed her weapons and began casually forward. As they tread closer to the carriage, the slavers noticed their presence and appeared instantly on edge. They had been arguing amongst themselves, and Elissa noted that their carriage wheel was broken, perhaps after running over a large rock. She remained calm and kept her limbs loose, but quickly assessed the area to prepare for a fight. There's wasn't much cover, no large boulders or trees, and the clearing was wide enough that large area spells could be cast upon her and Alistair with no risk to the slavers or their kidnapees. Talking first was their safest bet. They were not wearing their griffon armor (frankly, Elissa hated any Warden armor. She much preferred her dark leathers that let her stealth much easier), so they would be seen as mercenaries, most likely. She could use that to their advantage, offer an escort for a price, then take them out the moment Alistair drained them.

“Oh dear,” she appeared concerned about the wheel as they grew close enough for conversation, Alistair behind her so as to let her do all the talking. “Having carriage troubles? You look like you could use a little help”.

“Keep walking,” the female mage said with narrowed eyes. “Mind your business, Marcher, and you'll have no trouble”.

Elissa giggle at them. “My, my, what's all the fuss?” she quickly noticed the lock on the cage, it was a simple padlock that she could surely pick in no time after taking out the enemies. The youths in the cage looked terrified, though Elissa dared not make eye contact with them. She observed only in her peripheral as she kept her focus on the Mage that had spoken to her. “How shameful that pleasantries are abandoned on the highways. If you've cart trouble, my partner here has carpentry experience. He'd have that wheel of yours spinning in no time!” She gave a coy smile and placed a single finger on her chin as though in thought, committing to the carefree merc persona she had practiced. “For a modest price”.

The male mage appeared to relax, but the woman and the armored man remained on guard. Alistair wouldn't cleanse until he could engage the warrior safely without risk to Elissa.

“What sort of price?” the woman asked cautiously.

“Coin! Obviously,” she said with a laugh. “Say, two gold and twenty silver? We could barter, but it's not as though you could take your business elsewhere”. She giggled at her own joke and put a hand on her hip.

The woman appeared to consider the offer, but the fucking warrior had his maul in a ready stance, unwaveringly. She was starting to feel nervous, but dared not look back at her husband, who she knew had a practiced stone face, arms folded and unfeeling. He played his part well, always letting Elissa do the talking. A life raised by the Teryn and Teryna of Highever had left her with impressive skills of manipulation and persuasion. She despised the great Game, but she enjoyed using to her advantage in these types of circumstances.

“Very well,” the other mage spoke for the trio this time. “you'll have your coin if you get the wheel working. I suppose you have the proper tools?”

“Sure, enough to get you patched up anyway”. She set her pack down next to the carriage and Alistair followed her lead. As he set his own bag down, they exchanged a look, knowing exactly how to take these three down. The warrior was on guard, so Alistair would have to keep between him and Elissa, purge the magic from the area and quickly engage the armored man. Then, Elissa would make short work of the mages, hopefully able to slit both their throats before they could recover and attack back.

Alistair stood, rolling his head as though he were simply stretching before getting to work. He then swiftly sent out a cleansing wave, knocking the wind out of the mages. The warrior was on top of Alistair immediately, and he drew his sword and shield just in time to block a sideways bludgon from the warrior. Elissa drew her daggers quickly and rushed the male mage, gracefully stepping behind him and drawing her blade across his neck, sending blood spurting then streaming out.

The tevinter woman did not hesitate to draw a dagger out, slashing her own hand and casting a lightening bolt at Elissa, who narrowly dodged but was knocked to the ground. She hadn't expected the mage to react with blood magic so quickly, and she scrambled to get to her feet quickly enough to avoid a sudden blood spell the Mage was summoning. Her body was suddenly wracked with pain from a magic pulling the blood from her body in a hemorrhage and she coughed up red, dropping her daggers and falling to the ground. Alistair shouted her name, but could not disengage his opponent.

This particular blood mage was more skilled than any they had fought together. She slashed her palm again, drawing power from her blood to replace what Alistair had drained. She used a force spell to pull Elissa close, and away from her daggers.

This was a mistake on the part of the blood mage.

Elissa's hands were covered in her own blood that she had forcibly coughed out. She was in severe pain, and the blood mage was summoning a final blood spell to finish Elissa for good. She counted on Elissa being immobilized from pain, but this foolish woman had no idea the pain Elissa had endured in her relatively short life. Pain was familiar, the constant ache in her blood, the scars upon scars upon scars she had received since that fateful night her family was slaughtered, the tortures she had endured. And, now more than ever, pain was ignorable, since there was this beautiful, perfect, mysterious song buzzing inside her, and when she gave herself over to it, pain was practically nonexistent. No, Elissa was not immobilized from the pain. Her weapons were far behind her, but this blood mage had no idea that Elissa didn't need a blade to be dangerous. She had a weapon, sticky and wet, coating her hands, her chin, her tongue.

Elissa rushed the Mage with a feral shout. The woman was taken aback, shocked that Elissa could move at all, and that she ran toward her instead of her weapons. It didn't matter. All Elissa did was clasp the hand of the Malificarum, and that was enough. The woman shouted in pain, dropping her dagger and clutching the open wounds on her palm, which had Elissa's potently blighted blood upon it. Elissa grabbed the mage's dagger and slashed her own palm quickly, mirroring the blood mage's spellcasting from earlier. But Elissa was no mage. She needn't summon a demon, or power her abilities with blood. All she needed was a sharp edge coated with red.

She knocked the blood mage down and spat in her eye, and the woman was incapacitated by the pain. Elissa took no time in prideful acknowledgment of her conquering, and sunk the coated dagger into the woman's chest. She made an unearthly gurgle of pain, spasming as she died. Elissa spat the remaining blood from her mouth and struggled to stand, adrenaline surge waning. Alistair was faring well, dexterously dodging the Tevinter warrior's attacks and sinking well aimed jabs through the gaps in the armor. Just as Elissa was steady on her feet, Alistair bashed forward with his sheild, knocking down his opponent. He finished off the battle with a well aimed stab to the neck, and remove his blade once death had taken hold.

“By the Maker!” Elissa swore. “How am I going to get all this blood out?”

Alistair rolled his eyes but laughed all the same. He turned his attention to the people in the cage. “Is everyone alright?” He asked them. Elissa finally got a good look at the people in the cage, and her stomach felt a little sick. Children, all of them. The oldest couldn't have been more than fourteen, and the youngest was perhaps eight. And, unsurprisingly, all were elves. Alistair tried to chat with them calmly, asking gentle questions about where they were from, if they knew one another, if they had injuries that needed tending. Meanwhile, Elissa rummaged through the pockets of the newly made corpses and located a key on the woman. She almost tossed it to Alistair, but her hands were bloody, and now so was the key. She staggered over to her bag and pulled out a rag and waterskin, wetting the rag and cleaning herself and the key. She handed the key to Alistair, and he unlocked it.

The children were from an orphanage in Starkhaven's alienage, sold discreetly by an unknown human, whom the children remembered being well dressed. They were fearful and skittish, unsure if their rescuers were going to help or harm them. Elissa's state did nothing to assuage their fears.

The oldest child, a boy with brown skin and black hair, was hesitantly thankful as he spoke on behalf of the rest of the children. “Thank you for getting us out, Messare…”

“Just call me Alistair!” he responded cheerful as he habitually ran his fingers through his honey colored hair. “Uhm. Warden Alistair, if we're being formal”.

The smallest child, a girl with curly orange hair, gasped a little, peeking her head out from behind the older boy's leg. “Grey Warden? Like the kind from the stories that ride griffons?” her molasses brown eyes grew wide with surprise and intrigue.

“Ha! Yes, but I can't say I ever actually ridden one before. Uhm, so,” he nervously looked over at Elissa. She was wiping away the last of the blood, trying to look presentable enough not to frighten a group of traumatised orphans. She met his gaze and knew instantly what he mush be thinking. _What are we going to do with them?_ Alistair and Elissa were not going to leave group of children in the middle of the highway, and they certainly couldn't escort them all the way back to Starhaven; that was the opposite direction they were going. _And I'm on a time constraint_ , she thought as the buzz of the archdemon's song rung deep in her ears.

“Right, well,” Elissa stepped into view. “What shall we do with you?” She cut right to the point, a distinct difference in her personality from her husband's, who had a tendency to beat around the bush. The children looked at her nervously as she continued. “If you want to go back to Starkhaven, I'm afraid we can't take you. Perhaps we can walk with you a spell and find some merchants or travelers that might escort you?”

The second oldest child was a girl, perhaps 11 or 12, short brown hair and dusting of freckles across her pink skin, spoke up this time. “Where are you going? To fight darkspawn in the Deep Roads?”

“Well, we are going to Ansburg. The Warden Keep is there”. Alistair answered gently.

Another little boy answered, his face lighting up with a smile to show a missing front tooth. “My auntie lives in Ansburg! She moved there when she married a few years ago! Oh, please take me with you?”

“If you have family, why were you living in an orphanage?” Alistair asked, confused.

“When Mama and Papa died, no one could afford to send me there. It's a long trip”. He shrugged.

“Well, what about the rest of you?” Elissa asked as she distractedly adjusted her leather pauldrons.

“Ansburg can't be worse than Starkhaven,” the oldest spoke thoughtfully. “I think, if it's alright with you, we'd like to tag along. We won't be trouble, and we'll try to take care of ourselves. Those people have rations in those bags so you won't even have to feed us”.

“Wonderful!” Elissa clasped her hands together, barely paying mind to the wrapped wound on her palm. “Well, then. Off to Ansburg with us!”

They gathered their supplies, and the children were wrought with giggles and Elissa serenaded them with another round of the Ballad of Nuggins. She laughed along with them, but as she looked up at Alistair, her humorous, joking, good natured husband, she saw the wrinkles of saddness on his brow.

***

“Your calling?” Stroud looked dumbfounded as he tried to work through what Elissa was trying to explain. Alistair stood wordless against the bookshelf in Stroud's office while Elissa distractedly fiddled with some trinkets on the desk. Stroud was sitting with his arms folded, mustache twitching as he frowned. “You joined during the blight, did you not? That was only seven years ago. I've heard that wardens who join during the blight have their calling earlier, but only by a couple of years. I have never heard of a Warden getting their Calling so soon. Are you certain?”

“Quite certain,” she said indifferently. She picked up an empty candlestick and ran her finger along the bottom ridge.

“Well, I must admit that I am rather confused”. Stroud stroked his facial hair thoughtfully. “If you wish to go on your Calling, why come here? There are plenty of entrance to the deep roads between here and Amaranthine”.

“Ah, that would be because of me,” Alistair spoke up, raising a hand slightly with a sheepish grin on his face. “And the secrecy is for my sake, too”.

“Oh?” Stroud waited for an explanation.

“It's the Queen”. Elissa shrugged and distractedly examined the candlestick further. “We knew it would only be a matter of time before she tried to assassinate Alistair”.

“Right, I mean, I can hardly blame her, I did kill her father, even if it was in a Landsmeet sanctioned duel,” Alistair stepped closer to Elissa and took the candlestick from her hand and placed it back on the desk. She knew she must look crazy, but she simply couldn't keep still anymore. She was fighting this song, and she found fidgeting and fiddling to help. But she supposed trifling with a man's desk items may cross a line, so she said nothing and tried to focus fully on the conversation.

“Right, and we-well I- got a message from a… Friend with contacts in the Antivan Crows. There's a hit on him, and we needed to sneak him out of Ferelden. You understand why I told you nothing of this in my messages, couldn't risk interception”. Elissa spoke quickly and crossed her arms. “I'd like to request a formal transfer for him”.

“This is the second formal transfer you've requested from me, Commander. And for the same reason. Considering she owes you her Throne, Queen Anora certainly wants a considerable number of your loved ones dead”.

Elissa scoffed. “Yes, well, that's politics, isn't it?” she rolled her shoulders back to stretch, unable to keep still. “First rule when dealing with Nobles: assume they want you dead. Even if they act like they're friends, even if they owe you their fucking life. Learned that one the hard way”.

“Very well, Nathaniel has proven to be an asset, so it's not as though I have reason to turn away another one of your transfers. and I'm not about to turn away one of the heroes of the fifth blight”. He held out his hand to Alistair. “Welcome to the Marcher Wardens”.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been 80% finished for a while, but election-induced depression and anxiety interfered. I'm back now and will try to update the next chapter sooner! Soon I will start weaving together all the storylines.
> 
> My Warden is a rogue who took the blood power in the Warden Keep DLC. The description reads that it is basically using blood as a weapon coating poison, so I figured the blood could make an excellent weapon on its own if necessary!
> 
> Also, my Warden has the sultry voice.
> 
> The song in the beginning is from Codex entry: Hero in Every Port (Ballad of Nuggins). Just something silly and fun.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, check me out on Tumblr: http://sweetorangepoptart.tumblr.com


End file.
